


Meet Me At The Border

by Kalyppso



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Fluff, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23659018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalyppso/pseuds/Kalyppso
Summary: Borgakh, a half-orc and young mercenary, meets Ga'el, a high elf druid from a neighboring country.
Relationships: Original D&D Character(s)/Original D&D Character(s), Original Elf Character(s)/Original Orc Character(s)





	1. Clumsy Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Just some backstory stuff of Borgakh and Ga'el's first (few) meetings I wrote for fun. They have a two year long love affair; and another two years later the current D&D campaign I'm playing in begins / has begun. Feel free to ask about them or my DM's homebrew setting!

The forest smelled of spices, warm and unnatural. A sure sign of a person, whether well equipped with luxury supplies, or well travelled, to recognize fragrant flora in these thick woods.

Borgakh had been looking for a missing elf. A guild in the capital had said he was old, and maybe senile, last seen staggering into the forest at the border of Elanlune. His family was important enough to pay for his retrieval, at any rate. They said to call him Lissi (Lee-See) Solarshine, and the guild hadn’t questioned it; though many of Wolves Run spoke elvish, and knew Lissi to be a diminutive meaning Sweet, and not a name at all.

The Wolves Run were a mercenary group, often tasked with similar work, protection of people and property. As such, a search for a missing person was hardly out of the ordinary. The guild consisted of mostly half-orcs, though not entirely. This was what led Borgakh and old friends of her village to join the group; even when they’d stand out in some towns and cities, they could at least look to each other with familiarity.

The scent of food grew stronger along the face of the mountain, and led Borgakh to a curve in the rocks that hid the mouth of a cave. A short walk inside revealed to a stream of light and some short thumping noises.

Quietly, carefully, she peered around the corner.

Long gold hair framed the shoulders of a person - an elf, she would have to assume - who sat in front of a fire and a boiling pot, smoke extending upwards to a hidden ceiling or distant crack that acted as a chimney.

She made no further effort to hide her presence, and intended to announce her arrival when she took another step forward, sturdy and firm, rather than the little stealthed steps that had led her down the cavern.

“Vandren,” the elf called softly over their shoulder, turning only slowly, continuing in elvish, “where have you been? I—” they cut themselves short, switching to common, “You’re not … who I thought you were.”

“I’m not,” Borgakh agreed, and in the instant it took to utter this statement, the elf was upon her, standing, a blade in hand held outstretched towards her. A glance revealed that the thumping noise had been this knife against a small wooden board, and chopped vegetables scattered across the cave floor. Unable to completely stop a smile, Borgakh raised her hands, unintimidated by the cooking knife. “Hey, hey, hey,” she cooed.

Pale green eyes narrowed in Borgakh’s direction, whether unimpressed with her dismissive attempt at diplomacy or with her overall demeanor, they seemed to conclude that she was not a threat, and the elf lowered their knife in a smooth motion.

“Who are you?”

Borgakh did her best to appear approachable as she lowered her hands. “No one. I'm Borgakh of the Wolves Run. I was looking for a missing person.”

The elf did not turn away, nor loosen the set of their shoulders. A worn leather jerkin over a green tunic spoke of travel and a familiarity with challenges on the road. Their head moved as they spoke, clipped and awkward. “Well, obviously they're not here.”

“No,” Borgakh agreed, “but if you see a lost elven man with deep wrinkles, and brown and silver hair, it would be helpful if you let someone at our outpost know.” Before Borgakh continued to describe where to find her outpost, she saw a switch in her companion’s brow. “You know them?”

She hadn’t meant it to be an accusation, but this time the elf turned away as they answered, “No.”

With a frown, Borgakh conceded, “Alright, but if you do see him, our outpost is just east of here, across the dried creek and near the waterfall.” The elf nodded, not turning back. Borgakh sighed. “I'm sorry to have interrupted. Good night.”

Half the following day Borgakh followed the elf. She had waited in an overgrown tree all the previous night, watching the mouth of the cave in case the person she was seeking entered, or the elf inside decided to leave. Perhaps they had nothing to do with Lissi, but the whole interaction had felt sour and suspicious, and she couldn’t leave it alone.

However, this meant that she had gone without sleep, and when the sun was high and she’d followed the elf to the southern branch of the river, she lost sight of them. It looked as if they’d just dipped down as if gathering water or searching for something in the shallows, but then they’d never stood back up. She waited a few more minutes before cursing internally and creeping forward to investigate the emptiness.

There’d been a tree by the river, and soon she’d found herself with her right ankle four feet above the ground, her face in the dirt, caught in a tree spring trap. She was face-palming as she heard a snort from the reeds. Her elven friend spoke as they approached.

“You're following me. Badly, I might add.”

Borgakh let her hands slide down her face so that she was holding her jaw, resting on her elbows as she looked up to her captor. “I saw your face change when I described that missing person to you yesterday. I thought you might actually know where Lissi Solarshine is.”

“I don't,” they insisted, with more conviction than last time.

“Then what am I misreading?” Borgakh asked, forcing herself not to struggle as the elf walked around her.

“I don't owe you anything,” their words were in stark contrast to their actions, cutting the rope which held her.

Borgakh started pulling herself back to her feet as she assessed the elf. They looked young, as most elves did, no wrinkles or cataracts, or grey hair that she could see, but they looked troubled, a war inside them. She wondered how many centuries they truly had on her.

“You have a desperate air about you,” she tried to say, kindly. “I thought maybe I could help.” She stretched her neck, stiff after her fall and then looking up and down at the elf. “Who is Vandren?”

“What?” they looked incredulous.

“That's what you called me last night,” Borgakh clarified, “when you thought I was someone else. Is Vandren the name of who I'm looking for?”

“Who has hired your guild to find him?”

They hadn’t answered her question, but their response was just as telling.

“I don't know,” Borgakh admitted, “but I take it they lied about their intentions. Your attitude indicates he is not a missing person.”

“Depends on your definition of missing, I suppose,” they said with a wry smile. They sighed deeply and adjusted their hair about their ears before they gestured with a hand to the stones by the river. Borgakh sat with the elf as she reached out to grab the ankle they’d ensnared to Heal herself, and listened to their story.

They told her in muted terms, that Vandren was on the run, and seeking asylum back in Elanlune, where he belonged. His nobility had abandoned him, but this elf telling the tale had not, and they could arrange for a safe and quiet place for Vandren to spend the rest of his days. His cataracts had already come, and he was no danger to anyone. They could only assume that her guild had been hired by someone with an old grudge, regarding affairs that Vandren had long since forgotten, let alone been involved in. They tried to say a bit about the politics of it, but it was clearly strained by a need for secrecy.

Borgakh noted that beyond the ambiguity of the tale, that they could easily have been lies, though the original story she’d been told had held less weight than the one now. Moreover, she saw no need for a confrontation, as it wasn’t the words themselves which moved her, but the demeanor and earnestness of the elf. She changed the subject for their sake, using a question about expecting Vandren at the cave to talk about her own attempts at cooking, about hunting in the forest, about poisons found in this very river. She tried to joke a few times as they moved to walk upstream, wobbling and rambling a little from exhaustion until they agreed they had better part ways.

“About Vandren ... If you find him—” the elf started again

“I won't,” Borgakh said suddenly, her tired eyes opening wide and urgent before her face fell again in a sleepy smile. “I'm not the only member of my guild in the forest, but  _ I  _ won't find Vandren.”

The elf was plain in their surprise, lips slack and brow relaxed. After a moment they said, soft and wondrous, “Thank you.”

Borgakh returned to camp with the other two of the Wolves Run who were searching for Lissi, or Vandren as he might be. Grubash was a stout half-orc with short red hair, and Tanner was a half-elf, dark skinned and freckled. After a day, they each went out in search again, Borgakh having drawn the short straw and been left behind to hold their position.

It was two days later that Borgakh rushed out of their hut to the sound of orcish screaming.

“Grubash, what happened?” she called out, running to him as he limped towards her, covered in blood, his face slack with exhaustion.

“I found the elf. I-I got him good,” he grunted, leaning heavily on Borgakh as she brought him inside.

“Spirits preserve me,” Borgakh cursed. “Where is he?”

“He went west into the woods. There's a trail of blood in the trees.”

Grubash whined all the while Borgakh set him on a cot. She rolled her eyes as she pulled his face up to look at her, “Shut up. Let me heal you. When Tanner gets back we can—”

“Help!” another voice called in common from outside, and Borgakh’s eyes widened in surprise as she watched Grubash’s mouth fall open.

“Who is that?” he hissed.

“Shut up,” Borgakh insisted a second time, rushing outside.

Outside she found the elf from the cave, hair matted with blood, supporting an elf matching Lissi’s description, three arrows stuck in him, his whole outfit stained dark red.

“Help! Please,” begged the elf from the cave. “I know you have healing magic. He's dying.”

Lissi looked to Borgakh in distress before turning back to his companion, commenting softly, as if he held only to the edge of consciousness, “Ga'el ... You said you had friends?”

“I do have friends, Vandren,” Ga’el insisted. “Good friends.” He turned to the orc, desperation plain as he asked, “Right, Bork?”

Borgakh smiled and made to correct him as she started to reach out, “It's—”

“Borgakh!” shouted Grubash, limping out of the hut. “What is—?” he started to ask in orcish.

Borgakh turned to him with as much rage and authority as she could muster, extending her arm to him in warning. “Grubash, stand down. You're injured.”

“He—? I—? Fine.” he sputtered.

With that, Borgakh offered herself to Vandren’s free arm. “Alright, come on,” she encouraged in common, expecting to help Ga’el bring him inside, but as soon as she and Vandren took a step, Ga’el collapsed next to them, clearly unconscious. “Shit, ok,” she cursed in orcish as she turned her head towards her subordinate. “Grubash, come help me.”

“You were just telling me not to move for my injuries,” he argued, still hobling forward.

“Well now I have bigger problems,” Borgakh insisted.

In the end, Grubash wasn’t much help, and Borgakh had to return to help each he and Ga’el inside after laying down the elder elf. In the end, only Vandren received Healing, a spell before the first and second arrow removals, and then he and the others had been wrapped in bandages.

It was late evening by the time Tanner returned, shocked and worrying in his accented orcish, “I saw the blood outside what — the fuck is going on?”

Borgakh did her best to explain and to make decisions that her allies would agree with, instructing Tanner to boil enough stew, a meager, meatless meal, for them and their guests.

Later, Borgakh was bringing a bowl to Ga’el, who had woken and was sitting close to an exterior fire, watching Vandren at a distance, who was laughing with Grubash, even after suffering his arrows earlier in the day.

“Thank you,” they said softly, accepting the food and raising the bowl slightly as if in salute.

Borgakh smiled as she sat next to them, down in the earth, tossing a stick to the fire. She turned to see Ga’el holding their jaw, bandages around their head and neck stiff as they hazarded sipping at their dinner.

“You're looking better,” Borgakh observed. Their bandages were clean, and they seemed unlikely to collapse, color in their face not brought on by errant drops of blood.

“I'm feeling better,” they said with a smile, whiter than Borgakh was used to.

Borgakh waited a moment and weighed her question carefully. “What do you want to happen next?”

“I — ?” they hesitated. “Oh. Are we prisoners?”

Borgakh looked to Vandren also and sighed as she answered, “If I'm honest, I don't know. Since Grubash and Tanner are involved, I've reached out to my superiors, to see if they knew about the lies about Vandren being a missing person, and if they did then…”

“Then we're prisoners,” Ga’el said, knowingly. They smiled at Borgakh again, though it didn’t hold the same joy as before.

“We’re neither the law, nor bounty hunters,” Borgakh insisted. “We haven't previously involved ourselves in politics so it seems unlikely that — ”

“It's alright,” they maintained. “I expected my fate when I came looking for him, as you know; and I knew what it would mean coming to you for help,” they assured her, gesturing with an injured shoulder. “Thank you.”

Borgakh felt a flush on her cheeks, and wondered whether the elf would even recognize it as such; their own face rosy from the warmth of their meal. “It was nothing,” she said, soft and worried.

“I cannot say that I would have done the same,” they lamented, turning to look into the fire.

“You did let me out of your trap,” Borgakh chuckled.

“I did,” they agreed, smiling again despite not looking back towards her. Their eyes shining in the firelight. “Maybe I should insist you release us then. It would only be fair.”

“We’ll see,” Borgakh hummed.

In the end, the guild had agreed to abandon the contract to search for “Lissi,” and Grubash and Tanner said nothing when Borgakh made to release the elves in the direction of their border. Ga’el had bowed politely when she’d delivered the news of their release, but at their parting they’d reached up as if to touch her, and Borgakh wondered if she were shorter if they might've caressed her hair or face, or held her shoulder. As it was, their hand hovered awkwardly near her breast before falling back to their side, a soft blush on their face. They’d waved before turning, leading Vandren along.


	2. Reliable, In All Things

Borgakh was walking the mountainous border of Elanlune, just off the beaten path. She was searching for highwaymen, but only to confirm their location, though establishing their numbers and origin wouldn’t hurt either. Four times she caught sight of a white wolf in the brush, and wondered whether she was being stalked. It seemed too much to assume that she and the creature were bonding, as tales of wild Rangers were wont to do. Even so, she left out scraps when she’d pack up camp, hoping to stave off the beast until it took an interest in more natural quarry.

At the end of the week she was exhausted, frustrated, and weary. Shocked back into professionalism when she caught sight of the highwaymen, Borgakh sped back to her guild to complete her mission.

Sometime later, she and five others of Wolves Run were helping an elven wizard collect a number of magical ingredients from the surface and the Underdark, just inside the border of Southern Rose. The wizard held some kind of renown, and was discouraged from bringing any kind of force from Elanlune. He had been uninterested in placing his life and his research in the hands of any who represented the laws and the churches in Southern Rose, and so had hired Borgakh’s mercenary group.

It was a chaotic few weeks working with him, at one point luring three basilisks from the Underdark to the surface. Three of her guildmates were petrified, and combat was starting to feel desperate. The wizard threw two scrolls of Greater Restoration to another member of Wolves Run in case he too found himself turned to stone. It was at this time that two eagles descended from above, clawing at the backs of the basilisks, and the group was able to trick two of them into petrifying each other in the discord. The third was then blinded by the birds, and gutted by guild in a way which pleased the wizard; which mostly relieved them of their contract.

Borgakh had left her guildmates to recover, and helped the wizard on his way to the border, only a few hours away, where the eagles descended again and reverted to elven forms.

“It’s you,” Boragkh observed, surprised upon seeing a familiar face, but not at the reveal of the druids. Although it was possible the birds were ensorcelled by the wizard, it had been impossible for their involvement to have been natural.

“Ga’el,” they offered helpfully. “It is good to see you again, Borgakh.”

“You’re placing a lot of trust in this orc,” observed the other druid in elvish.

“This orc can hold her tongue,” Borgakh answered in chipped elvish, and Ga’el laughed.

“You speak elvish like a tourist,” Ga’el teased in common.

“Well she’s certainly not a local,” the wizard supplied. “Are you here only to make small talk?”

“Is that a problem?” Ga’el asked, and the wizard raised his arms in defense, in defeat, pushing the party onward to their destination.

“Are you military?” Borgakh asked Ga’el as they moved away from the others. “Was Elanlune doubtful that Southern Rose would stay out of your man’s business? Or of the strength of her mercenaries?”

“If it were the latter,” Ga’el supplied, “then it would have been warranted.”

“True enough,” Borgakh admit. “Thank you.”

A week later, Borgakh was alone at the base of the mountain, on the lookout for a half-orc merchant, a talented, but not famous or even well-off armor smith, leaving Elanlune. He came into view a few hours later than expected, his cart shining in the mid day sun, covered in display pieces.

United, they were meant to make their way to a checkpoint where a dummy cart would continue one way, and the true cart would follow another path. Each would have more guards than one half-orc. Even so, it was less than an hour from the border that they found themselves attacked. There were five bandits, and they felled the merchant’s horse quite quickly, which left him hiding inside his cart and Borgakh mournful of the distance separating her and her allies.

She never would have expected to end the encounter without bloodshed, at the cry of a bear.

When it seemed the bandits had well and truly gone, the beast emerged from the woodlands, slowly reverting to a laughing elf.

Another combat encounter did not go so well. A surplus of enemies, and a new unexpected beast leaping to Borgakh’s defense; and it wouldn’t be the last time. A white wolf was thrown from the mountainside, and an injured friend exclaimed in distress when the shock of impact wore off. When the encounter was over, Borgakh encouraged the others of Wolves Run to start dragging their unconscious adversaries back to camp, and started climbing down to the next rise to check on the druid.

She helped Ga’el sit up and lean against the cliff before kneeling down next to them, cooing softly, in common, in orcish, in broken elvish, as she examined their tattered arm and bruised forehead.

“Not my proudest moment,” they muttered in elvish, angry and anguished under a pained hiss.

“Your arm’s the worst,” Borgakh said absently in common, starting to pull at their glove in a careful and deliberate way before smiling, lopsided and considerate. “But at least we won, and you’re walking away, and the poachers yet live, so it isn’t your most shameful moment either.”

Ga’el hummed thoughtfully, watching Borgakh take their bare hand between her own, large and calloused and a distinctly foreign green. She brought their hand to her lips in a soft kiss, Healing them with the touch.

They gasped in surprise and Borgakh had to assure herself it was nothing, could mean nothing, touching the back of their palm to assure herself that the broken bones had settled back in place.

“Where else does it hurt the most?” Borgakh asked carefully, and Ga’el looked contemplative, their eyes darting away as if calculating, sighing deeply before meeting Borgakh’s gaze.

They bit down on their lower lip, hard and fast, hard enough to bleed, fast enough to keep from backing out. Blood bloomed on their mouth, red and unmistakable against the amber of their skin.

“Here,” they whispered, no gesturing required.

Borgakh moved slowly, her brow knit into a frown, her expression guarded as she shifted her position lower, sitting on the gravel, leaning on the mountain.

“That was very bold,” she said finally, “and extremely stupid.”

But it was then that she leaned in, gradual and insecure, whispering a word of Healing across Ga’el’s lips in the breath before they touched. It wasn’t smooth and comfortable. They bumped against one another awkwardly, and though Borgakh had her eyes closed she could feel Ga’el trying to sit up, rocking a little from side to side. She let a huff of air escape her nose as a soft laugh as she pulled away.

“You fidget a lot,” Borgakh said, wincing skeptically, wondering whether Ga’el had been trying to separate them sooner.

“I’m trying to find a comfortable position from which to raise my arms,” they whined, and Borgakh laughed more openly, shaking her head.

“Don’t,” she insisted. “Just rest. We can sit here for a few hours.”

Ga’el sighed, shifting again where they leaned against the rocks. They were staring again now, but this time Borgakh recognized the faint traces of admiration in their gaze.

“I might not feel so bold in a few hours.”

“That’s alright,” Borgakh assured them, tangling her fingers with their healed hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
